Flesh Church?!
Gawain and Kyle were simultaneously drawn to it.
"The exact time when the Flesh Church appeared is unknown, but there are rumors that King George I's death is related to them. In the 120 years since then, every disturbance and killing in the kingdom has their shadow behind it!"
"The most recent appearance was in June last year. When the 'Extraordinary Legalization' Act was enacted, a group of Flesh Church believers, along with over a hundred 'extraordinary people,' caused chaos in the capital, 'Bode.' The death toll among civilians exceeded 10,000. The Keepers of Bode barely managed to stop the unrest but suffered unimaginable losses, forcing them to call in Keepers from other regions to the capital."
"Bastards like the 'Murderer in the Fog' started appearing around this time."
Morey clenched his fists as he spoke, looking unusually angry.
"June of last year?"
"That sudden plague that disappeared just as quickly?"
Kyle was taken aback.
"The plague was a cover," Morey explained.
Then, the official extraordinary affairs specialist from Rust looked at Gawain and said, "This matter is beyond what you can handle."
"Don't get involved anymore; I'll report this immediately."
Gawain nodded in agreement, though he had a feeling that this matter was unusual. Just as Morey said, it was indeed beyond his capacity.
Gawain understood better than anyone the consequences of overreaching.
He had witnessed a so-called "expert" in his hometown fall into disgrace shortly after making such a claim, cutting off all communication with the outside world.
Gawain wouldn't make the same mistake.
"And about the owner of the Pinecone Hotel?"
"He's a businessman."
"Businessmen value their reputation, but…"
"In the end, he's still a businessman."
Morey seemed to say nothing but implied everything.
Gawain nodded in understanding.
Clearly, the Pinecone Hotel owner's status was even more significant than he had imagined, so much so that Morey couldn't directly spell it out.
"I understand," Gawain said.
Although he was leaving behind a soft bed, compared to his life, a hard floor was manageable. With a sleeping bag and blanket, it was still better than some "rope beds" or "squat tickets," right?
"If anything comes up, place a lost cat notice in the Rust Daily."
"This time, it's for a five-year-old orange male cat, reward 1 gold, 10 silver, and 6 copper coins, signed 'ZYX.'"
"And one more thing…"
"Stay out of 'Elm Street' for now—wait until I've thoroughly investigated why the Flesh Church appeared in Rust."
With that, Morey was ready to leave.
That social anxiety returned to him.
Had using the 'Identification Pocket Watch' been influenced by 'Extraordinary Power'?
"Is it targeting me?"
"Or Mrs. Pons?"
"Or someone else?"
Gawain wondered.
But he didn't resent it; on the contrary, he appreciated this caution.
Working with cautious people brings you closer to success.
Knowing this well, Gawain called out to Morey.
"I have some information that may or may not be true—the 'Murderer in the Fog' is at 17 Warehouse Street."
Gawain whispered.
Morey gave Gawain a surprised look.
He had no idea where Gawain got his information.
But the residual power from the 'Identification Pocket Watch' assured him that Gawain was telling the truth.
That was enough!
"Alright, I'll check it out myself."
Morey nodded and hurried away.
Gawain watched him leave, hoping he would find more information.
Kyle hesitated for a moment before running downstairs.
He returned just before Mrs. Pons arrived.
With a smile on his face, he seemed in good spirits.
But as soon as he saw Gawain, the young man quickly restrained his smile.
That awkwardness returned.
"I am Lord Morey's most capable assistant—although Lord Morey doesn't allow me to call him that, he remains my lifelong goal!"
His words sounded almost like a declaration, leaving Gawain utterly confused.
He didn't know how to respond to such irrational talk.
It felt like countless thoughts crowded his mind, but none could come out.
In the end, he could only manage one sentence—
"Do you know Beatrice?" Gawain asked.
"Don't ask me about the names of those ladies. After I reject them, I don't keep any contact information or remember their names."
Kyle said sternly.
Seeing Kyle, who had clearly misunderstood, Goethe felt a strange sense of relief.
But for some reason, Goethe also felt a bit disappointed.
However, when Mrs. Pence walked in, Goethe composed himself and began to listen attentively.
At first: It didn't seem too difficult, it was manageable.
Five minutes later: It's getting a bit harder, I need to concentrate more.
Ten minutes later: Don't rush, just work hard, and with steady progress, any problem can be solved.
Twenty minutes later: Why does this feel like math...
Thirty minutes later: Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
...
"Class dismissed."
"When you get home, carefully review the class notes, and make sure not to let anyone else see them—this lesson is the foundation of 'Graph Recovery Language' at this stage, and we'll be discussing it in detail over the next twelve weeks."
"And, don't be late for tomorrow's class."
As Mrs. Pence left, Goethe raised his head in a daze.
Then, Goethe saw Kyle, who was just as confused as he was.
It was obvious that Kyle hadn't understood the lesson either.
This made Goethe feel a bit relieved.
He was genuinely worried just now, almost thinking that he wasn't acclimating well and that his comprehension ability had deteriorated.
He could understand things when they were separate, but when put together, they became completely incomprehensible.
It was even completely contradictory.
It was like the difference between "three meals a day" in the eyes of a normal person and in the eyes of a particular kind of person.
Of course, Goethe didn't leave empty-handed.
With his persistence and hard work—
[Someone has taught you special knowledge, making a judgment...]
[Judgment passed!]
[Do you want to use 'Bloody Honor' to learn 'Graph Recovery Language (Basic)'?]
...
Looking at the prompt before him, Goethe didn't rush to choose to learn.
First, [Bloody Honor] isn't something you can find just anywhere.
And, it's extremely limited!
Setting aside the bottle that killed 'himself,' the candlestick that killed 'his brother,' the syringe that killed 'his grandfather,' and the meat hook that killed 'his aunt,' based on the family line, the only ones left that he could possibly find are the weapons that killed 'his father,' three 'uncles,' and three 'cousins.'
At the moment, he had 2 portions of [Bloody Honor], and if he found the remaining 7 portions, that would make 9 in total.
Of course, he might have some deceased 'relatives.'
But finding the weapons that ended these 'relatives' is far more difficult than finding the weapons of his 'father,' three 'uncles,' and three 'cousins.'
If the latter can be considered traceable, the former is like searching for a needle in a haystack.
The amount of effort and time required is something Goethe can't afford right now.
Moreover, not all of 'his' relatives could have been so unfortunate as to die by murder, right?
What if some died of natural causes?
Second, Goethe wanted to master new skills through his own learning.
This made him feel grounded.
And with the appearance of the prompt that [Bloody Honor] could be used to learn [Graph Recovery Language (Basic)], Goethe had some clearer thoughts—don't use [Bloody Honor] to improve existing skill levels.
For example: [Cold Weapons: Dagger] and [Gunpowder Weapons: Handgun]!
This place is different from home.
Gun control isn't strict here.
Moreover, improving basic levels should be quick!
With this in mind, Goethe got up and walked out.
Seeing Goethe leave, the confused Kyle also stood up and walked out.
After bidding farewell to the middle-aged butler, the two walked out of No. 10 Febury Street.
"As a gentleman, I won't lose to you!"
Kyle declared, as if making a childish proclamation at the door.
Then, before Goethe could speak, he suddenly bowed deeply.
"Earlier, my recklessness dragged you into trouble, and I'm sorry."
"And before that, I treated you coldly out of jealousy, and I'm sorry."
"These are not the actions of a gentleman!"
The childish behavior, much like his declaration, made Goethe want to roll his eyes, but the sincerity in Kyle's words made him hold back.
A gentleman, huh?
Goethe pondered as he looked at the young man in front of him.
Some of the things he had seen and heard in his homeland made it hard for him to take that word seriously.
But now, there was a slightly different feeling.
Kyle continued, "I hope I can make it up to you—my greatest pride is my cooking skills, and I hope to prepare a sumptuous dinner for you this weekend as an apology."
As he spoke, Kyle bowed again.
Seeing the sincerity in his manner, Goethe felt he had no reason to refuse.
He was simply moved by Kyle's sincerity, and it was definitely not because of the sumptuous dinner this weekend.
So, Goethe nodded and said, "Alright."
Seeing that Goethe had agreed, Kyle was very happy.
"Then, Saturday evening, don't be late."
The young man said goodbye to Goethe and turned to catch a nearby public carriage.
Goethe, on the other hand, boarded the police carriage waiting across the street.
Inside the carriage, Swart lowered his voice as soon as Goethe sat down—
"We found the guy."
(End of Chapter)